“What’s this?” Tommy glanced between the envelope and Ira.
“Originally, it was my way of thanking you for a job well done. Now it looks like you should think of it as payment toward a new set of wheels.”
“You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?” Tommy turned to study Ira’s profile. The words had come out before he’d had a chance to vet them, though he didn’t necessarily regret them. For one thing, he wouldn’t put it past Ira. For another, Tommy was in no mood to play games. The press was on his tail, his car had been vandalized, and despite the moments they’d shared, Madison Brooks had failed to reply to a single one of his texts.
He was worried about her. Sure she came off as tough and capable, but Tommy had seen a vulnerability most people would never suspect. He needed to know she was okay. Needed to know that whatever had shocked her into running hadn’t gotten the best of her, or, God forbid, harmed her. If it turned out she’d decided she’d made a mistake by kissing him and that she never wanted to see him again, he’d deal. As long as she was all right, he’d handle it. It was the only thing that mattered.
“So how’s Madison?” Ira asked, ignoring Tommy’s question.
Tommy dropped his gaze to the envelope. Just how much of a thank-you was this? “How should I know?” He shrugged.
Ira continued to examine him. That was exactly what it felt like, being examined under a high-powered lens. “Considering you were the last to see her, I thought you might have some insight the others are lacking?”
Tommy watched Ira’s mouth twitch at the side. Was it amusement? Contempt? At the moment, he didn’t much care. He just sighed and squinted out the darkly tinted window to the sun-seared landscape beyond. Dead weeds, buckled sidewalks, sagging chain-link fences surrounding broken-down houses with peeling paint and bars covering the windows and doors. Other than a handful of manicured pockets they featured on the postcards, Tommy was surprised to discover the City of Angels mostly consisted of bleak urban sprawl.
“She’s heartbroken,” Tommy finally said. He needed to say something if he had any hope of getting Ira to stop scrutinizing him, never mind that it wasn’t entirely true. Strange as it was, Madison hadn’t seemed the least bit heartbroken. If anything, she seemed almost reborn, released, like a person who was standing on the precipice of a bright, shiny future. Though he wasn’t about to share that with Ira.
“Heartbroken, huh?” Ira’s voice betrayed a hint of amusement. “Who would’ve guessed?”
It was Tommy’s turn to scrutinize Ira. He had no idea what he was getting at, but then Ira often spoke in riddles.
“Who would’ve thought she was a good enough actress to fool even you?” Ira’s expression remained unreadable as Tommy sat speechless beside him. He hadn’t even noticed the SUV had pulled up to the curb outside his apartment, until Ira said, “This is you, right?”
Tommy nodded, unsure what to do. Of course he needed to get out of the car and into his apartment before Ira could unnerve him even more. But suddenly the envelope felt too large and awkward in his hands. He needed the money more than ever, but nothing came from Ira without the expectation of some kind of repayment.
“Ira, I can’t—” He started to return it, but Ira dismissed the gesture with a wave of his hand.
“Let’s not play this game,” he said. “I’ll have your car towed and arrange for a loaner until it’s fixed.”
Tommy started to protest, but Ira cut in.
“This is LA, not . . . whatever small town you’re from. Access to a working set of wheels is a matter of survival.”
Tommy sighed, palmed the envelope, and slid out of the car before he had a chance to reconsider.
“And, Tommy,” Ira called to him as the car pulled away. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Tommy muttered, watching the SUV fade into the smog as he raced up the stairs to his shithole apartment before the paps could descend.
FORTY-THREE
ANOTHER WAY TO DIE
“Mom . . . Dad . . . you’re home!” Her mouth was moving, words were spoken, but Aster’s body had otherwise completely shut down. Stunned, shell-shocked, stupefied—there was no single word to adequately describe the way she felt seeing her parents appear in her room. “I thought you were still in Dubai.”
Her mother advanced, her mouth pinched with fury, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, as her father remained by the door, frozen with grief, and Nanny Mitra hovered in the background, fingering her locket and mumbling prayers of salvation under her breath.
“Where have you been?” Her mother’s voice perfectly matched the stern expression she wore.
“Nowhere!” Aster closed her eyes. Damn, why had she said that? It was the mantra of the guilty: Nowhere—no one—nothing! Still, her parents were the absolute last people she’d expected to see. They weren’t due home for several more weeks. And yet, there they were, ambushing her in her very own room. “I mean, I was with a friend. I was with Safi—at Safi’s.” She cringed when she said it. She’d become so obsessed with her new job and her flirtation with Ryan she’d mostly blown off her friends, and yet, here she was, still using them as her go-to excuse.
“We’ve spoken to Safi.” Her mother crossed her arms over the classic Chanel bouclé jacket Aster had once hoped to inherit. “Would you like to try again?”
Aster gulped, dropped her gaze to the floor. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. She looked like crap, smelled like boy, and her mother was totally onto her.
“And what is that you’re wearing?”
Aster rubbed her lips together, squinted at her clothes—or rather, Ryan Hawthorne’s clothes. “It’s just, you know, the ‘borrowed from your boyfriend’ look, that’s all.”